


Bedtime Stories

by singtome



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: (In Training), Coveting of kitchen sweets, Drabble, Gen, Ignis is a Good Adviser, Kid Fic, Noctis makes Ignis do all his dirty work, Sleepovers, pre-game era, they're kids in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 15:43:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17428790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singtome/pseuds/singtome
Summary: Ignis steals some royal sweets, from the royal kitchen, in the royal palace. Noctis is excited to have a sleepover.





	Bedtime Stories

**Author's Note:**

> The beginning of something I began and never finished, but thought it might be cute enough to post on its own. Have some First Sleepover wholesomeness with these two lil rascals.

-

 

“Did you get it?”

In the quiet darkness, Ignis starts, and looks back toward the very large bed at the far end of the room – bigger than it has any right to be, if you asked him. Though this is the Royal Palace, he supposes, and at the end of the day you did need _somewhere_ to fit all that nobility or else it will begin to burst out the parapets, and then where will they all be?

Prince Noctis is bundled up beneath soft satin sheets and a blanket depicting the night sky, the only part of him visible being a shock of black hair and clear blue eyes that were peaking across at Ignis, wide and inquisitive. The warm glow of the bedside lantern bathes him in a soft orange ambience.

Ignis nods, before realising Noctis probably can’t see him, and whispers as loud as he dares, carefully shutting the heavy oak door behind him.

“Yes.”

Under the dim light, Prince Noctis beams, small features lighting up with excitement. Ignis begins the trek over to the bed. He is careful to navigate stray books and miscellaneous toys, stopping short of stubbing his toe on the cold metal of the Prince’s wheelchair – that of which he has done more times than his pride will allow him to admit.

Ignis smooths long locks of hair out of eyes and reaches into his pocket, where the pastries he’d quote-un-quote _acquired_ from the kitchen upon his highness’s request sit nestled and surreptitious. The guards stationed outside the Prince’s bedroom had raised a single eyebrow at Ignis’s approach as if they could sense the forbidden fruits hidden in the warm depths of his smart winter coat. It had taken nothing but a polite smile from Ignis and a courteous bow before they’d folded, features warming in that way that adults’ usually do when they look at Ignis and let the Royal Adviser in Training through without question.

He smooths out a napkin to protect the blankets and places the pastries on top. Noctis’s eyes, if possible, grow even brighter.

“ _Awesome_.”

Noctis braces his palms on the mattress and shuffles to scooch over in bed. Ignis scrambles to help him, lifting heavy blankets for ease and ensuring pillows remain straight and comfortably behind his highness’s head. As soon as Noctis is happy with the amount of space he has created he pats the empty bed beside him while staring expectantly at Ignis, who blinks, confused.

Noctis frowns and pats the mattress with added vigour.

“C’mon.”

“Highness … it is not proper –”

Prince Noctis groans aloud, rolling his eyes dramatically toward the heavens. “It’s fine, Ignis,” he whines in a rather un-princely manor, “Stop being a stick in the mud, now come _on_.”

Ignis hesitates a moment, mind reeling through all the lessons his uncle had put him through in his training up until this day, and while he is technically a supposed playmate, if you will, to the young prince, he fails to recall _bed sharing_ and _sleepovers_ having been on the list. He resigns, eventually, when Noctis grows impatient and fidgety, and sheds his jacket and shoes, placing both neatly at the foot of the wide bed.

“There you go! Oh – hey, before you climb in, could you open that drawer. No, the other one – yeah that.”

Ignis does as he is told and pulls out a simple black torch, the only item in the Prince’s old elegant bedside table, and finally climbs onto the bed. He is settled for a heartbeat before Noctis, without warning, hoists the blankets above both their heads, submerging them into darkness.

“Highness, what –” Ignis begins spluttering, his temple knocked by one of the Prince’s wayward fists as he attempts to … what is he doing, exactly?

In the darkness, tight and a tad claustrophobic for Ignis’s tastes, Noctis is stretched as far as he can, fumbling against the bed posts to – oh.

“Hey, Ignis,” Noctis begins, voice straining with effort and frustration, “Could you, uh … could you reach up –”

“Of course,” Raising to his knees, Ignis takes the ends of the bed sheets from Noctis’s shaking hands and ties them as best as he can – which is not amazing, he certainly could have done better with some fastening equipment, at least, but you work with what you have. Noctis sighs gratefully, relaxing back against his pillows, both hands pulling one knee closer toward him, and clicks on the torch. The light is illumining the small space in a cool yellow ambiance, casting odd shadows across his features, and when he smiles, it is peculiar but no less appreciative.

“Thanks for that, Ignis,” Noctis whispers, his tone taking on an almost shy quality, dragging the stolen pastries between him and Ignis.

Ignis shakes his head at the bizarre situation and smooths his palms against his trouser legs, for lack of anything else to do.

“Of course, your Highness.”

Noctis’s eyes flit up to him, and with pastry half hanging from his teeth he still attempts to speak, “You can call me Noctis, you know.”

Ignis looks back for a moment, hesitant, feeling itchy and boxed in, but safe all in one. It is a strange array of emotions, and Ignis is not yet privy to whether he likes it or not. Uncle had always said _formality over sociability_. To be an advisor is to be a friend, yes, but he shan’t ever forget his place; his upbringing and his duty to the kingdom and the Prince of Lucis. Noctis is always _Noctis_ beside _his hignness_ in Ignis’s head, give or take a _Prince_ in front of the name, but he is never Noctis out loud. Not to Ignis.

The Prince’s small hands still, smooth with the privilege of a prestigious childhood.

Noctis will never fall from his bike and scrape his palms, and he will never roll down a hill until he is sick. But then again, neither will Ignis, and Bahamut knows Prince Noctis has already been through ordeals exceeding far greater than a few cuts and bruises.

Noctis pushes the remaining pastries toward Ignis. “Here,” he says, “Have them. You earned ‘em!”

Ignis wipes hair from his face despite it not obscuring his vision at all, a nervous habit he is working at, and nods once, reaching for a pastry.

“Thank you. Noctis,” he adds, testing it out more than anything. The Prince lights up as if Ignis had just told him he would be receiving three more puppies by morning. Ignis picks at the pastry slowly (sugar clouds the mind, uncle says) and watches as Noctis pulls a picture book from behind him, opening it to a random page and carrying on from there without a care in the world.

They are both quiet for half a minute before Noctis remarks, softly, that shy tone making its appearance once again, “I’ve never had a sleepover before. I mean, I sort of did, back in Tenebrae with Luna …” The Prince’s voice breaks off, and Ignis feels a pang in his chest. Noctis shakes himself and continues, “The nurse always caught us, and I was sent back to my room.”

He suddenly looks up at Ignis, smiling, “But I’ve never had a _real_ one, with, like, a friend before.”

Friend.

A warm fuzzy sensation settles in Ignis’s chest. He coughs politely into his fist to hide a smile.

They sit in comfortable silence for a while, Ignis slowly but surely taking apart the pastry, savouring every bite and mentally cataloguing each different taste. Uncle has been teaching him to bake, recently, and Ignis had been surprised to find that he doesn’t find it as boring as he had originally imagined. Occasionally, Noctis would pause in his reading and Ignis would hear him muttering to himself as he attempted to sound out a word, eyebrows pinched irritably, and he would lean over, spy the word, and quietly repeat it back to Noctis.

The Prince smiles warmly every time.

Eventually they fall asleep, and this is how the King himself finds his son and his adviser-in-training in the morning: in a complete mess – Noctis laid sideways across the blankets, a snowy white carbuncle clutched in his arms, and Ignis, curled around a storybook, eyes scrunched, knees pulled to his chest, both dreaming. Icing sugar clings to the corner of their mouths.

 

 

*

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://singt0me.tumblr.com/) :)


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